Chapter 1: The CEO’s Secret Illness
The boardroom of Thorne Enterprises, located on the top floor of the tallest skyscraper in Hudson Yards, was silent. Executives in five-thousand-dollar suits held their breath as Julian Thorne, the ruthless CEO known as the “Wolf of Wall Street,” stared at the financial reports.
Suddenly, Julian’s face turned green. He clamped a hand over his mouth, shoved his chair back, and sprinted out of the room.
“Mr. Thorne?” his assistant, Westley, called out in panic.
Inside the private executive bathroom, Julian was retching violently. This had been going on for two weeks. He couldn’t keep food down. He was dizzy. He was moody.
“Dammit,” Julian groaned, splashing cold water on his face. “I’ve seen the best doctors in Manhattan. Why can’t they find a tumor? Why am I vomiting every morning like a… like a…”
“Like a pregnant woman?” a sharp voice came from the doorway.
Julian spun around. Standing there was his grandmother, Victoria Thorne, the matriarch of the family, leaning on her diamond-encrusted cane.
“Grandma, this isn’t funny,” Julian growled.
“It’s not a joke, Julian. It’s the Thorne Legacy,” Victoria said, her eyes twinkling. “The men in our family are cursed—or blessed. When our soulmate carries our child, the man takes on the burden. You suffer the morning sickness. You suffer the fatigue. It’s nature’s way of balancing the scales.”
Julian scoffed. “Soulmate? I haven’t been with a woman in…” He paused. His mind flashed back to a stormy night one month ago at the Plaza Hotel. The masquerade ball. A woman stumbling into his room, drugged and frightened. The darkness. The scent of vanilla and rain. He had never seen her face clearly, and she had vanished by dawn.
“If you are vomiting,” Victoria said gravely, “it means she is pregnant. And given the severity of your reaction… I’d wager it’s multiples. Twins. Maybe triplets.”
Julian paled. “Triplets?”
“Find her, Julian. Or you will vomit until you wither away. The only cure is to be near her. Your presence soothes her, and her presence heals you.”
Chapter 2: The Sale of Sophia Miller
In a cramped, moldy attic in Queens, Sophia Miller curled into a ball on her thin mattress. She was nineteen, beautiful in a fragile way, with large doe eyes that were currently red from crying.
She vomited into a bucket for the third time that morning.
“Useless trash!” The attic door banged open. Brenda, her stepmother, stormed in, followed by Tiffany, her stepsister.
“Mom, look at her,” Tiffany sneered, scrolling through her phone. “She’s been puking for weeks. Disgusting.”
“Get up!” Brenda kicked the mattress. “Mr. Henderson is waiting. The wedding is in three days.”
Mr. Henderson was a 60-year-old oil tycoon from Texas with a reputation for beating his wives. He had offered Brenda five million dollars to marry Sophia—money Brenda desperately needed to cover her gambling debts in Atlantic City.
“I can’t,” Sophia sobbed, clutching her stomach. “Mom, please. I think… I think I’m pregnant.”
The room went dead silent.
“Pregnant?” Brenda shrieked. She grabbed Sophia’s hair. “You little slut! Who is it? That pizza boy?”
“I don’t know,” Sophia wept. “That night at the Plaza… when you forced me to work as a waitress… I was drugged… I woke up in a room…”
“You ruined everything!” Brenda raised her hand to strike her, but Tiffany caught it.
“Wait, Mom,” Tiffany smiled wickedly. “Mr. Henderson wants an heir, right? He’s been trying for years. If Sophia is pregnant, we just tell him it’s his miracle baby. He’ll pay double.”
“But the timeline…”
“Who cares? We’ll say the baby is premature. Just get her to the altar.” Tiffany looked at Sophia with cold eyes. “But just in case… give her those pills. If she miscarries after the wedding, we still get the money.”
Sophia looked at the bottle of pills Tiffany placed on the nightstand. They weren’t vitamins. They were high-dosage abortifacients.
“I won’t take them,” Sophia whispered, her hands protecting her belly. “My babies are innocent.”
“Babies?” Tiffany laughed. “Plural? You’re delusional. Get dressed. We’re going to the dress fitting.”
Chapter 3: The Wedding Crash
Three days later, St. Patrick’s Cathedral was filled with New York’s elite, all whispering about why the beautiful Sophia Miller was marrying the toad-like Mr. Henderson.
Sophia stood at the altar, her face pale under the veil. She felt weak. Brenda had starved her for two days to make sure she fit into the corset.
“Do you, Robert Henderson, take this woman…” the priest began.
“I do,” Henderson grunted, his sweaty hand squeezing Sophia’s.
“And do you, Sophia Miller…”
Sophia looked at the stained glass windows. Please, she prayed. Anyone. Save me.
“I…” Her voice trembled.
Bang!
The massive oak doors of the cathedral slammed open. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the daylight, was a tall figure in a black tuxedo. He looked like a fallen angel, furious and beautiful. Behind him stood a dozen bodyguards in sunglasses.
“Stop the wedding!” the man roared.
“Who is that?” Brenda hissed. “Security!”
The man strode down the aisle. As he got closer, the guests gasped.
“It’s Julian Thorne,” someone whispered. “The billionaire.”
Julian walked straight to the altar. He ignored Henderson, ignored the priest, and looked directly at Sophia. As he stepped into her personal space, the nausea that had plagued him all morning instantly vanished. Color returned to his cheeks.
“It is you,” Julian breathed, his blue eyes locking onto hers. “The scent. Vanilla and rain.”
“Who are you?” Henderson shouted, his face turning purple. “Get away from my bride!”
Julian turned to Henderson, his expression shifting from wonder to terrifying rage. “Your bride? She is carrying my children.”
The church erupted in chaos.
“Liar!” Brenda screamed, rushing forward. “She’s a virgin! She…”
“Shut up,” Julian said calmly. He signaled his assistant. “Westley, buy Mr. Henderson’s company. Hostile takeover. Now.”
“Done, sir,” Westley replied, tapping on his tablet. “Mr. Henderson, you are now bankrupt.”
Henderson clutched his chest and collapsed onto a pew.
Julian turned back to Sophia. She looked ready to faint. He scooped her up into his arms, bridal style.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
Sophia looked up at him, her vision blurring. “You… you’re the man from the hotel?”
“I am. And I’m the father of your triplets.”
“Triplets?” Sophia’s eyes widened before she fainted against his chest.
Chapter 4: The Human Antidote
Sophia woke up in a bed that felt like a cloud. She looked around. The room was larger than her entire house in Queens.
“You’re awake.”
Julian was sitting in a chair by the window, reading a parenting book. He looked healthy, vibrant.
“Where am I?”
“My estate in the Hamptons,” Julian said, closing the book. “You’re safe. Your stepmother and sister can’t reach you here.”
“Why did you save me?” Sophia asked, sitting up. “Because of the babies?”
“Partly,” Julian admitted. He stood up and walked over to the bed. “But mostly because of this.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. “When I’m away from you, I’m sick. I vomit. I can’t eat. It’s a family condition. My body is taking the toll of the pregnancy for you. But when I touch you…” He inhaled deeply. “I feel perfect.”
Sophia stared at him. “You’re crazy. That’s scientifically impossible.”
“Is it?” Julian smiled mischievously. “How do you feel right now? Any nausea?”
Sophia paused. Usually, mornings were hell. But right now… she felt hungry. Ravenous, actually.
“I… I want pancakes,” she said. “With pickles. And peanut butter.”
Julian groaned and rubbed his stomach. “Great. Now I feel like I need pickles.”
Over the next few months, their life fell into a strange, domestic rhythm. Julian, the terrifying CEO, became a clingy husband. He had to hug her for at least thirty minutes every morning before work to “charge up” his immunity to the sickness.
If he stayed late at the office, he would start retching during meetings. His executives learned that if the CEO turned green, they had to drive him home to his wife immediately.
“It’s embarrassing,” Julian complained one night, resting his head on Sophia’s growing bump. “I’m the most feared man on Wall Street, and I’m dependent on your hugs.”
Sophia ran her fingers through his hair. She was falling in love with him. Not because of his money, but because he endured the physical pain of pregnancy so she wouldn’t have to.
“You’re a good dad,” she whispered.
Chapter 5: The Showdown on Fifth Avenue
One afternoon, Sophia decided she wanted to buy some baby clothes. Julian was in a meeting, so she took a black card and went to La Rêve, the most exclusive boutique on Fifth Avenue.
She was wearing a simple maternity dress and sneakers because her feet were swollen.
As she browsed the tiny cashmere onesies, a salesgirl approached her with a sneer.
“Excuse me, miss. The discount store is three blocks down. These items are extremely expensive. If you touch them with your dirty hands, you have to pay.”
Sophia blushed. “I intend to pay.”
“With what? Food stamps?” The salesgirl laughed.
Suddenly, a familiar screechy voice echoed through the store. “Well, well. Look who dragged herself out of the gutter.”
It was Tiffany and Brenda. They looked disheveled; after Henderson’s bankruptcy, they had lost their main source of income, but they were still trying to maintain appearances.
“You stole our ticket to wealth!” Brenda hissed, cornering Sophia. “If you hadn’t left with that man, we would have five million dollars!”
“Leave me alone,” Sophia said, backing away.
“You think you’re special because you’re a rich man’s mistress?” Tiffany grabbed a pair of scissors from the counter and slashed a rack of silk dresses. “Oops. Look what Sophia did! She ruined the merchandise!”
The salesgirl gasped. “You trash! That’s $20,000 worth of silk! Security! Arrest this woman!”
Sophia trembled. “I didn’t do it! She did!”
“Who would believe you?” Tiffany smirked. “You’re a nobody.”
“She is Mrs. Thorne,” a deep voice boomed.
The air in the shop seemed to drop ten degrees. Julian stood at the entrance, his eyes blazing with cold fire. He walked over to Sophia, wrapped an arm around her waist, and kissed her forehead.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“Julian…” Sophia buried her face in his coat. “They said I ruined the dresses.”
Julian turned to the salesgirl. “Did you verify who caused the damage?”
“I… she looks poor… and her mother said…” the salesgirl stammered, realizing who Julian was.
“You judged my wife based on her appearance?” Julian pulled out his phone. “What is the name of this brand? La Rêve? Who owns the parent company? LVMH? No, it’s a subsidiary.”
He spoke into the phone. “Westley. Buy La Rêve. The entire brand. Yes, right now. Done?”
He hung up and looked at the terrified staff. “I now own this company. You are all fired. And ensure that no retail store in New York ever hires them again.”
He then turned to Brenda and Tiffany. “And you two. You have ten seconds to leave before I have you arrested for destruction of private property. My property.”
Brenda turned pale and ran, dragging Tiffany behind her.
Julian turned to Sophia, his expression softening. “Pick out whatever you want, my love. In fact, let’s rename the store Sophia’s.”
Chapter 6: The Secret of the Locket
Back at the penthouse, things were calm until a package arrived for Sophia. It was an old, battered box from the nursing home where her biological grandmother (on her father’s side) had passed away years ago.
Inside was a letter and a golden locket.
My dearest Sophia, If you are reading this, I am gone. You need to know the truth. Brenda is not your family. Your father found you. You were kidnapped 20 years ago from a family in Boston. The locket contains their picture.
Sophia opened the locket. Inside was a photo of a distinguished couple holding a baby with a butterfly-shaped birthmark on her shoulder.
“I have that birthmark,” Sophia whispered.
Julian looked at the photo. “That’s… that’s William and Eleanor Vanderbilt. Old money. They’ve been looking for their lost daughter for two decades.”
“My parents?” Tears streamed down Sophia’s face.
“We’re going to Boston,” Julian said firmly.
The reunion was emotional. The Vanderbilts, now in their 50s but still elegant, collapsed in tears when they saw the birthmark and the DNA test results. Brenda had been a maid in their house who stole the baby out of jealousy and spite.
“You are not a nobody, Sophia,” her real mother, Eleanor, cried, holding her face. “You are a Vanderbilt. And you are so loved.”
With her true family found and her husband by her side, Sophia finally felt whole. But the biggest challenge was yet to come.
Chapter 7: The Sympathetic Labor
Two weeks later, in the middle of the night, Sophia woke up with a sharp pain.
“Julian!” she gasped. “The water broke.”
Julian woke up instantly. But instead of panicking, he doubled over, clutching his stomach. “Oh god! Argh!”
“Julian?”
“It… it hurts!” Julian groaned, sweat pouring down his face. “Why does it hurt so much?”
They rushed to New York Presbyterian Hospital. The scene in the delivery room was comical and touching. Sophia lay in the bed, breathing through the contractions, uncomfortable but managing.
Julian, however, was in the chair next to her, screaming.
“Breathe, Mr. Thorne! Breathe!” the nurse yelled.
“I am breathing!” Julian yelled back, gripping the bed rail until his knuckles turned white. “It feels like my insides are being twisted! Sophia, how are you doing this?”
“I’m fine, honey,” Sophia giggled between breaths. “You’re doing great. Just push.”
“I can’t push! I don’t have a uterus!”
The doctors explained it was the most extreme case of Couvade Syndrome they had ever seen, amplified by the Thorne family connection. Julian was feeling every contraction his wife felt.
Hours passed.
“One more push, Sophia!” the doctor commanded.
“Aaaaaah!” Julian screamed, louder than Sophia.
And then… silence. Followed by a cry. Then another. Then a third.
Three beautiful babies. Two boys and a girl.
As soon as the babies were born, Julian’s pain vanished instantly. He slumped back in the chair, drenched in sweat, panting.
He looked at Sophia, who was holding the three bundles. She looked radiant, tired but angelic.
“We did it,” she smiled.
Julian stumbled over, kissing her sweaty forehead, then kissing each of the babies. “Never again,” he whispered, though he was smiling through tears. “We are never having a fourth one. I can’t survive labor again.”
Sophia laughed. “I love you, Julian.”
“I love you, Sophia. More than my own life.”
Epilogue: A Christmas Miracle
One year later.
The Vanderbilt-Thorne estate was covered in snow. The living room was filled with laughter. Grandma Victoria was holding one baby, Eleanor Vanderbilt another, and William the third.
Sophia and Julian stood by the fireplace. Julian was no longer the cold, lonely wolf. He was a man who carried a diaper bag with dignity.
“You know,” Julian whispered, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I haven’t vomited in a year.”
“That’s good,” Sophia teased. “Because I was thinking…”
Julian’s eyes widened in terror. “No. No thinking. No more babies.”
“I was thinking about getting a puppy,” she laughed.
Julian exhaled, relieved. He kissed her deeply, the warmth of the fire matching the warmth in his heart. The curse had become a blessing. He had shared her pain so she could share his life. And it was a perfect trade.
THE END
